


Rain falls from a clear sky

by cactipresident



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Depersonalization, F/M, Original Character(s), ignorance of reality, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactipresident/pseuds/cactipresident
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The snow was not a comfortable place for a lady to be sleeping. Petyr just doesn't have it in him to wake such a sweet looking woman. Gods know she needs to sleep. The poor wolf had been through so much, maybe he'd let her sleep a little longer...</p><p> </p><p>Set after the season 5 finale. Petyr  comes back to winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am ashamed of myself. I am petyrxSansa trash and i needed to write some angst. My take on what could happen at Winterfell after the kinda bold jump

_It must be raining_ ,he thought absentmindedly. He looked to the skies with his dull grey eyes searching for the offending clouds but saw none. The clear blue seemed to mock him, telling him to look for another reason. Instead he clutched his prize closer to him keeping it away from the harsh reality the sky was trying to make him see.

_The snow_ , his mind supplied. That was why his doublet and trousers were soaked, it could be the only reason he tried to tell himself. He had been sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours. The same snow bank near one of Winterfell’s walls. The same bodies littered around him from Stannis’ and Roose’s battle.

His eyes not actually registering the scene before him he scanned the battlefield seeing all the soldiers who gave up their lives for a useless cause. All the soldiers and knights and stable hands who just did what they were told.  If he wanted he could make his own bigger Iron Throne from all the swords dropped carelessly around by lifeless hands.  If the man hadn’t died Petyr would’ve done it himself, killed the man who dropped his sword into snowbank. It looked barely scathed, the blade peering to be almost new if it weren’t for the dark brown stained on it.

He escaped his mind again, opting to not think and just look at his ward. She was truly beautiful. He hadn’t lied to her in the veil she was more beautiful than anything he ever saw , her mother included. Even now she had the most serene look on her face. How he wished he caused that look on her, she hadn’t been anything but snark and smirks and a tightly coiled spring since the left the Eyrie. He was glad she was happy now. She deserved to be happy. She deserved a castle and a throne. She deserved to have Knights fighting for her hand each as handsome as the last. She deserved fairytales.

She didn’t deserve this. Or him.

Cautiously he brought a hand up afraid to wake his sleeping beauty. His ringed hand brushed a stray strand of brownish red hair from her face before caressing it gently. She must had been sleeping here all day to have gotten this cold he thought. What a silly child, only trying to relieve her days of long past youth in her long past home. He smiled an unguarded smile, ones he reserved for her and only her.

He wished to be able to see her bright blue eyes, filled with amusement at his plans to control and take. To see them dance with her emotions clearly displayed, a trait so rare in his company. He also somehow knew looking at them now would be a bad idea. He wouldn’t be able to pretend any longer. He would have to accept the harsh cold reality.

Dully he realised it must be cold here in the North. He should be in something warmer but he had to give his riding cloak to Sansa. When he found her she was practically ice. He knew northerners could stand it better but he still wanted her not to get sick. They had to ride south soon and if she was down with a cold from staying outdoor in only a simple dress all day they would be delayed.

A hand pressed against his shoulder but he ignored the owner of said hand. He knew they’d speak eventually. He continued staring at the face of his Sansa, her face cradled on his lap in a makeshift pillow. He wondered how he was going to wake her. He should probably move her off of him because she’d only get upset if she found out she slept on his lap. Yes it would be good to move her onto the snow again. In a moment.  In a moment he’d do it.

“Lord Baelish,” Called a voice quietly. They seemed upset he noted. One of their family member must have died, he thought. The boy behind Petyr stood silent for a few more seconds hoping he’d answer. “Lord Baelish,” He began again “, You need to get inside M’lord.You’ll catch your death staying out here while winter is coming.” The boy reasoned. _A blacksmith apprentice_ his mind explained to the rest of him. _Merely a child trying to show care for the man who helped save them from the Boltons._

“ Is the snow melting?”

The boy seemed startled at the Lord’s voice suddenly starting again. It took him a while to realise he had actually asked a question. “U-uh no m’lord” the boy stammered to answer quick enough.

Petyr closed his eyes with a deep inhale of breath. When he breathed out he opened them again slowly as he closed him. He saw the world again for what it was. His mind caught up with the rest of him. Gently he moved the eldest Stark daughter’s head off of his lap onto the cold hard snow which had barely melted despite his body heat and length of time spent on it.

Gracefully he stood up, everything once again hidden behind his mask. Littlefinger had work to do in Winterfell.

The smith boy smiled sadly at the lord as he passed. The second littlefinger’s back was to him the smile fell. He looked back one more time on the grizzly scene, Sansa Stark the Lady of Winterfell was impaled on a sword. It slice right through her back poking out of her stomach. It looked like she tried to save herself from her slow death but only managed to sink lower on the offending blade. The once white snow was now a red halo around her body as if proclaiming this sacrifice of war was more important than all the others.

  
He prayed to the Old gods and the New that Lord Baelish didn’t ever get a chance to extract his anger and revenge on the person he did this. Gods permitting they were already dead or all the seven heavens wouldn’t be able to save them.


	2. The Mockingbirds View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a bird was freeing, But she should be a wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was convinced so easily to write a second chapter. Safe to say I have no will power lmao  
> I might write a third chapter about them trying to get her body back. Or killing he bolton bastard. Maybe

It was a curious feeling , she decided, flying above everyone without a care in the word.

No that was wrong. She had cares. She had too many for a girl her age but soaring through the air seemed to at the very least shed them from the forefront of her brain. 

How was she flying? She couldn't remember having wings, but as they beat the air she couldn’t think of ever not having them. It was almost like a dream. Nothing hurt and nothing bothered her. All she had to do was live.

Her tiny frame flitted between tall towers and spires, the grey stone looking so familiar but not too familiar, as if the angle was all wrong. As if she was used to seeing these giants from the ground. 

Her beaked skull swivelled around, a sharp sound drawing her attention. It was barking, several dogs running across the courtyard. As she landed on a jutting out grey stone she noticed a dark haired man following the dogs calmly, his cold sharp as ice eyes staring ahead with a sort of cockyness that ruffled her feathers. The mere sight of the human made her almost fly away, her instincts alone telling her he was a bad person.

She stayed though, her attention quickly drawn to a another human walking across the courtyard to the bad man. This human had dark hair as well, except for the smattering of white across his temples. His eyes were as dark as the black water bay, and he looked like he wanted to murder something. Instead he smiled while his eyes stayed the same.

“Ramsay, I see you’ve come back victorious.” He told the bad man, his head tilting slightly as he puffed up the man's ego. His head movement reminding her of her own bird like ones. She almost laughed at how bird like the man was.

“ I see you’ve come back crawling to me, littlefinger.” The man, Ramsay as the bird man said, smiled cruelly, trying to get a dig in at the well dressed man in front of him. 

Littlefinger just continued to smile demurely, Ramsay not effecting him in the slightest.

“ You owe me a new northern bride.” That got to him. His smile fell for a moment before fixing itself back into place. 

“ I gave you a Stark, Just because you couldn’t control her was not my fault.” He responded coldly. His eyes never wavering in their hate towards the man.

“Well, the Stark up and died on me. After stealing my Reek no less!” The bad man sounded as if this was the worst offense anyone could give him. She attempted to fly closer, her quiet tweeting catching the attention of the one called littlefinger. He looked at her curiously before his attention was immediately drawn back to the dangerous person in front of him.  
“ I’m sure you can torture and castrate yourself another one.” 

Ramsay smiled instead ,leaning close to him. “I could always do that you, Baelish. See how little, your littlefinger truly is.” He laughed to himself even as littlefinger stayed impassive. “ Find me a new Northern bride. One who will continue to support my claim on the North or I test out how long it will take me to break you.” He smiled, patting littlefinger on the cheek before walking away. Leaving Littlefinger and the tiny bird alone.

She wished she could comfort him. The man seemed broken and alone and gods so damn familiar. 

She flew closer still, landing on what looked like an old archery practice right by him. Once again he was drawn to her by her quiet tweeting. This time he walked over to her, his head level with hers as he marvelled at her.

“ What is a Mockingbird doing this far north?” He questioned, his hands behind his back as if not to scare her, “ You and I both don’t belong here ,do we?”

She tried to call back to him that this was her home, but it only came out in the calming song of a bird. She tried to call that she was a wolf not a mockingbird but that just felt wrong. She hadn’t been a wolf for years. Only a little bird who sung pretty songs.

Who was she is she wasn’t a little dove?

Sansa

. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell and this was her home. 

“ Hush little bird,” Came the quiet reply of the man in front of her, hearing her distressed call. She hopped towards him, hoping he would recognize her for who she was. Please help me, she called to him, you promised you’d help me.

“Petyr”

The man took a step backwards, his green-grey eyes wide as he stared at her. They both stood still, neither one moving in fear of scaring the other.

“Sansa?”


	3. Godswoods Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr clearly must be going insane. There was a bird on his shoulder and he talked to it as if it was Sansa. Winterfell had finally broken him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so I tried my best at trying to get Sansa alive again. I feel Ramsay would be insane enough to do half of the things he did in this chapter.

It should have been unusual for Lord Baelish to have a tiny mockingbird sitting on his shoulder, but it seemed most of the denizens of Winterfell had been kowtowed into silent obedience. Few even looked in his general direction as his long legs propelled him forward across the yard. The tiny bird on the other hand studied everyone with a keen watchful eye, the wariness practically radiating off the small thing.

“This is insane” The lord mumbled to himself, his eyes cast upon the mockingbird before he continued looking forward with the intent of a driven man.

She only tweeted back, hoping to come off as encouraging. If she had to be honest, this was insane. She had no idea why she was a bird right now. Or how she was able to say Petyrs name in that moment. Was that something Mockingbirds could do? Or was that something only Wargs could? Because that was what she was. All of Old Nans stories suddenly felt too real to be comfortable. Everything she and Jeyne dismissed as stupid fairytales were suddenly shoved back in face with too much truth in them. She only wished she had payed more attention to the old caretaker. Yet another regret to add to her list of so many.

Speaking of regrets, She ruffled her feathers and stepped closer to the warmth of the Lord. He was another regret she could add to her list. He betrayed her, leaving her with the Bolton Bastard. For all she knew he was betraying her right now, leading her back to the people who killed her family and raped her in her own home. But now she had wings. She could jump and not fear the fall.

He seemed to sense her discontent because he was mumbling to himself again. Or maybe it was to her. “ I made a mistake, I won’t make it twice.”

She merely sat there, not responding. She had to wonder if she was the mistake. He told her to woo the Bolton Bastard and instead she leapt to her death…. Not death. Seven Hells, she hadn’t even thought of Theon. He jumped with her. Did he survive, or die just as she did? She had to pray he was alive. After all he tried to save her in the end, even if it was futile.

“The...on…” She tweeted pitifully, grabbing Petyr’s attention once again, though this time he merely scoffed and shook his head.

“ He’s alive as far as I’m aware. But Ramsay sent his dogs after him, so I don’t know for how long.” He didn’t seem as worried as her, but littlefinger cared little for things outside of himself. 

She kept quiet this time, watching where the little lord was deciding on taking her.

Apparently, he was taking her to the Gods Woods.She had the sudden urge to just escape the man she sat on and fly as high as she possibly could . The bird instinct in her wanted to fly through the red leaves still clinging for life on the white branches of the weirwood. She quickly managed to shake the thoughts off of herself, instead clinging to his cloak with renewed resolve. He was bringing her here for a reason. He couldn’t know this was where the nightmare began. Right?

The lord walked to the tall weirwood tree his steps crunching below him , barely looking into the carved watchful face before he collapsed onto the bench before it. The normal immaculate posture of Petyr Baelish gave way to a slumped and tired mess, his face finding purchase in his hands as he sighed. 

“ Gods, Sansa. I thought you died.” He mumbled to his hands, “ Maybe you still are and this damned place finally broke me…” He trailed off, his eyes following the hopping of the mockingbird off his shoulder onto the bench next to him. 

Sansa just tilted her head at him. She would think she had finally cracked as well if Petyr had come to her as a bird. She herself could not wrap her head around this and she was the damned bird.

“ I held your dead body, Sansa.” He continued after a minute, his eyes now staring far ahead and unseeing. “ You were so cold but you looked so peaceful. Like a true queen, just sleeping there. I thought you would wake any moment, so I held you. You shouldn’t have to be alone when you woke up.” He looked at the bird again, before he shook his head.

“ This is insane.”

“What is, Littlefinger?”

Both mockingbirds stiffened and turned in time towards the voice. There stood Ramsay Bolton, a smirk plastered across his face as his cold as ice eyes scanned Petyr and the tiny bird that sat next to him. His grin just got wider as he turned to the weirwood, the sap bleeding from the eyes to create a very macabre scene. From their wedding she knew he loved when the carved faces looked as if they were tortured onto it.

Baelish stood up and bowed before the new Lord of Winterfell. “Lord Bolton.” He addressed, with a smile on his face, all previous distress gone in a second. His littlefinger mask was placed firmly back on. “ I had expected not see you for a while. I assumed you were going to be on the hunt with your men.” Petyr held his hands in behind him, the perfect picture of obedience for the volatile lord.

Ramsay in turn waved him off, the same sick smile on his face. “ My men can capture Reek by themselves. I know how little he can actually run since I took a few of his toes.” He laughed before stepping forward and planting himself where Petyr once sat. In an act of preservation Sansa flew up into the Weirwood branches, an annoyed call breaking from her beak.

“I actually came here to bring you a present!” If possible his smile got wider and even more terrifying. There was a glint of madness playing across his cold eyes, the only warning the two got for what he had planned. The mad man whistled loudly, a signal for someone, before he looked back at Petyr.

“ I knew how much you loved my little wife.” He started, before his eyes flickered behind baelish than back again. He ignored the way Petyr stiffened at his declaration, his mind on what he deemed more important matters. “ and I knew how much she loved you. Up until I got inside her that is... After that, well she seemed to hate your very name!” He laughed again, the cruel sound causing Sansa to tweet in distress if just to hear something else. Something other than anything that came from a monster.

Petyr turned around as the sound of boots crunching on fresh fallen snow reached his ears. Sansa couldn’t see from her vantage point, too many trees in the way, but whatever it was caused Baelish to drop all pretense of aloofness. His shoulders stiffened , his face contorted in pain and sorrow. Then it finally came into view, the sight causing a wave of nausea to overwhelm the tiny bird.

It was her. 

It was her body, dragged between two guards who seemed indifferent to the fact that they were carting around a dead body. They moved past the shocked lord to lean her cold and frozen body against the weirwood tree, right below the bleeding face.

Petyr was right, she did look like she was sleeping. Someone must have changed her body into a new gown, the mere thought causing another wave of disgust, because she knew she wasn’t wearing that dress when she jumped. If Sansa herself didn’t know any better she would think this was just a girl sleeping. Which by the twisted grin of Ramsay was exactly what he wanted.

The cruel lord waved the two men away, not paying attention as they bowed and left. His eyes seemed to only watch Petyr, waiting for something other than shocked silence. When Petyr didn’t even turn to look at her body against the tree, frozen in place as he was, Ramsay decided to say something.

“I got her all prettied up for you!” He cooed at his handiwork, his ice like eyes surveying the body. “Till death do us part they say. So if our marriage is null, I figured you can have her. I have no use for a dead cunt, but as you’ve never had it her dead cunt is better than nothing.” He smiled again as he watched Lord Baelish slowly turn to him. His grin grew wider at the look of utter hate in his eyes. Clapping his hands he stood up from the bench ,easily making it Petyr in a few steps.

Sansa couldn’t hear what Ramsay whispered in Petyr’s ear but whatever it was caused the man to snap.  
It was faster than she realized Petyr was capable of, his hand flying to Ramsay’s stomach where he twisted and pushed with ferocity she hadn’t seen even as he pushed Lysa out the moondoor. His face twisted with a sort of grim satisfaction as he caught Ramsay unawares and now with a knife embedded deep in his stomach. The lord of Winterfell flew back in shock, his eyes quickly flinging from the knife to Petyr who pulled another from within his cloak, fully prepared to shove this one even further into him.

He didn’t even have a chance to cough up blood before he fell backwards, falling beside Sansa to lean on the tree. One bloodied hand of his rested on the carved face, as he struggled to gain balance and pull the knife from his gut with little success. Sansa watched with little remorse as the light slowly drained from Ramsay and he slumped against the now bloody weirwood tree. As the light left him she was overcome with an intense wave of dizziness, almost causing her to fall from the branches.

Petyr stayed still for a moment before his shoulder sagged with both relief and remorse. He quickly sat down, facing the tree and the two dead bodies. Both his fault one way or another.

“Gods, Sansa….” He whispered, trying to ignore the building emotions as he stared at her sleeping face… no. Her dead face. Because she was dead and now the last Bolton was as well.

The knife he held to try to stab Ramsay again fell to the floor and he finally collapsed in on himself. His mask broke and there was no quick fixing it. His Sansa was dead and if what the bastard said was true he killed her before she ever jumped. Twice now he’s killed people for Sansa. Twice he’s gotten his hands dirty when he swore he never would. Keep your hands clean was a rule to keep the game playing. But with Sansa he didn’t care about the game. She was in danger once and now… now he killed for her out of vengeance. There was no thought, just action. He could still survive this but he was in enemy territory surrounded by enemy soldiers and men.

But they were all terrified of Ramsay. Added to the fact that he knew Ramsay was also a kin slayer, he could survive this. He could survive this easily as the proclaimed Warden of the North by the crown itself.

But was it worth it?

He did all of this. All of the killing and planning and scheming for her.

And she was dead.

She was dead and he was insane to think a mockingbird was her even for a second. She was dead and there was no bringing back his love. 

Slowly he stood up, giving the two dead bodies a quick look over.He’d have someone burn the remains of Ramsay. He didn’t deserve a proper burial. Sansa...his Sansa will have a burial deserving of her Stark name. She would be buried with the other cold as ice statues below Winterfell. At least she was home.

Gently he cupped her cheek, surprised at the amount of warmth the body was giving off. Briefly he wondered where they kept her after he found her if she was warm like this. He knew of several hot springs below Winterfell that kept rooms warm and the green house going. Maybe they kept her there to give her a lifelike glow to twist his heart further.

He let her go, his hands now holding the other as if to keep himself from trying to touch her any further. With a sigh, he replaced his broken mask with another. Littlefinger sliding back into place with practiced ease. With another look over the weirwood and the two below it he turned. He had to look calm and poised when he told Winterfell what happened. They had to trust him as their de facto leader now that he killed off what little they had left. 

“Pe….tyr….”

He paused, hoping to god that bird wasn’t back. He couldn’t take anymore attacks on his sanity. It was hard enough coming to terms with Sansa being dead once. It may sound like her, and act like her and be way too sociable for a bird but there was no way it could be Sansa. She might’ve taken care of the mockingbird while he was gone. Yes that was it. The mockingbird sounded like Sansa because she took care of it like the loving and caring person she was.

“Pe...tyr….” It called again in her voice.

He couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t look at her dead body anymore.

“Petyr….” At the third call, he turned around and fully prepared to shoo away a damn bird. Instead he was greeted with the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.

Sansa was standing up, leaning gingerly against the tree. She seemed incredibly weak and stiff, her body not yet coming to terms with being alive again. Her hand was outstretched towards him, beckoning for his help. Quickly he rushed to her side, his hand flying to her warm body to steady her.

“Sansa… you’re….”

He didn’t finish, he didn’t need to with the way she was smiling at him. She was alive and that was all he needed. He pulled her against himself, trying to soak up the warmth that radiated off of her. She was alive.

“My Sansa…” He whispered into her hair as she wrapped her stiff limbs around him as well.

“Thank you, Petyr.” She whispered back, her face buried in his shoulder as her body shook with emotion. He killed Ramsay for her. She didn’t care how she came back to life, all she needed to know was Ramsay was dead and she was free.

**Author's Note:**

> the things i write sometimes are the reason I cry at night. But seriously Sansa sweetheart, you don't just jump. You could die on a sword or from the fall or hell from a number of things. One maybe being the battle that was just raged in front of you. I love you san dear but seriously.


End file.
